"Don't think I doubted your word," she said, casting a slanting
glance up at him without moving her head. "But I wanted to be
able to swear positively, if I should happen to be dragged into
the witness-box--I hope it won't be by the hair of the
head!--that your gun has not been fired this morning. Unless you
carry a cleaning rod with you," she added, "which would hardly be
likely."
"You may search me if you like," Good Indian suggested, and for
an engaged young man, and one deeply in love withal, he displayed
a contentment with the situation which was almost reprehensible.
"No use. If you did pack one with you, you'd be a fool not to
throw it away after you had used it. No, I'll swear to the gun
as it is now. Are you ever going to get my hair loose? I'm due
at the office right this minute, I'll bet a molasses cooky." She
looked at her watch, and groaned. "I'd have to telegraph myself
back to get there on time now," she said. "Twenty-four--that
fast freight--is due in eighteen minutes exactly.
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